Chapter 1: The Cheek of Destiny
It was midnight in the neon-lit city of Velaris Prime, where dragons wore suits, elves ran corporations, and demons complained about taxes.
Somewhere in the rain-slick alleys, a man in red leather armor crouched behind a dumpster, humming to himself while reloading his gun.
"Alright, Aza," he whispered, slapping the magazine in place. "You've done this a thousand times. In, out, no explosions, no unnecessary murder… unless they're being jerks."
He peeked over the dumpster, spotted a group of armed thugs, and immediately ducked back down.
"Correction: lots of jerks. Jackpot."
Aza – or as the world called him, the Ass Assin – grinned behind his cracked visor.
The name wasn't just a title. It was a curse. A misprint on his first bounty poster had forever branded him as "Ass Assin" instead of "Assassin." He tried correcting it once. The guild just laughed and added a peach emoji next to his name.
Now, he owned it.
He kicked open the dumpster lid, flipped over it, and fired three clean shots.
One bullet disarmed a thug, another shattered a rune barrier, and the last one ricocheted off a wall, bounced off a frying pan, and hit a cigarette right out of the leader's mouth.
"Safety first," Aza quipped, landing in a crouch. "Smoking kills."
The gang froze. The leader, a massive ogre with a cybernetic arm, growled.
"You're the guy who took down the Black Fang Syndicate."
"Technically, I tripped, fell, and accidentally exploded them. But sure, let's go with that."
Bullets and spells flew. Aza danced through them, half serious, half sarcastic.
He backflipped over a fireball, dodged a lightning strike, then used the ogre's shiny head as a springboard to land behind him.
"Hey, do you use coconut oil?" he asked mid-fight.
"What?" the ogre snarled.
"Because your head's smoother than my ex's apology."
He elbowed the ogre, swept his legs, and kicked him into a dumpster — poetic justice, if Aza ever saw it.
Silence fell, broken only by the rain and the faint sizzle of magic residue.
He stood, holstered his gun, and adjusted his jacket.
"Mission complete. Time to get paid. And maybe… a burrito."
But as he turned to leave, his commlink buzzed. A hologram flickered to life – a shadowy figure in a hooded cloak.
"Aza. You've been selected for a new contract. One that could decide the fate of this city."
"Can I decide it later? I'm starving."
"No time. You're not the only one they're sending."
Aza blinked.
"Wait, they? As in, more weirdos like me?"
"Worse. Professionals."
The line cut. Aza stared at the dark alley, sighed, and cracked his neck.
"Great. Guess I'll have to show them what a real pain in the ass looks like."
Cue the explosion behind him – totally unplanned.